by Kristen Cobb
The King’s Raven
Kristen Cobb
Contents
Untitled
Untitled
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
The King’s Raven
By Kristen Cobb
Text copyright 2017 Kristen Cobb
All Rights Reserved
1
Ireland 1170
The iron hinges on the heavy oak doors groaned as the guards pulled them open, almost as if the blackened iron curling around the edge of the thick wood realized the ominous purpose of her visit. Rushes covered the dirt floor. Long hollow stems of the plant were used to cover the ground, even inside large structures such as this. They made a soft crunching sound beneath her feet as Nessa strode into the great hall with Laurence beside her.
What an odd pair they must make, a woman dressed like a man and Laurence wearing the plain brown frock of a monk. Now the archbishop of Dublin and a mediator for kings he refused to wear the elaborate robes befitting his station. A long shapeless garment made of course brown hemp covered his lean body from neck to toes. Long dark hair and deep blue eyes turned many a maiden’s gaze but Laurence remained devoted to the church and oblivious to their attentions.
Spending the majority of her time in military encampments Nessa long ago gave up wearing dresses, warmth mattered more than appearance. She owned exactly two sets of clothing. Two tunics made of hemp that fell to mid-thigh. Fitted pants completed her less than extensive wardrobe. Her clothing was the natural light brown color of hemp, like a sack.
Laurence normally carried messages between warring kings. Her presence here today had only one purpose, to instill fear. They called her Dermot’s druidess, a woman with powers to rival even the most mythical of ancient druids. The Catholic Church long ago ordered the Irish to abandon such pagan beliefs but traditions such as these ran deep. Men generally fell into one of two categories, either they feared her powers or they wanted to possess her to gain control of those powers. Most tended towards fear, giving her a wide berth at all times.
There were no windows in the room. The only light came from sconces mounted on the wall. The warm glow of candlelight on the grey stonewalls only added to the ominous feel of the situation, the tension thick as a morning fog that would overtake the bogs after a heavy rain. No fire burned in the hearth leaving the room cold and thoroughly uninviting.
Laurence leaned over, whispering in her ear. “Is there any chance of this ending peacefully?”
Asculf was seated at one of the long wooden tables in the center of the room, flanked by ten armed guards. The rest of the large hall appeared to be devoid of any activity. Not even a lone servant passed through. Empty tables and benches filled the room, the hall eerily silent except for the crunching sound of the rushes beneath their weight. Although currently the king of Dublin Asculf MacTorkil would not hold that designation for long. The look on his face as he watched her walk toward him suggested he knew this day would not end well for him.
This structure had not been designed with defense in mind. Dermot’s men would overtake it with very little effort at all. There were no battlements, towers, or arrow loops, no iron portcullis protecting the entrance. Asculf obviously believed the wall surrounding Dublin provided ample protection. Dermot knew every weakness in the city’s defenses. Asculf stood no chance at all of keeping him out.
“Perhaps if he surrenders.” Asculf surrendering Dublin provided no guarantee Dermot would leave the city unscathed.
“You think Dermot will attack even if Asculf surrenders?” Laurence kept his voice low as they neared the table.
Nessa glanced at Laurence, their eyes meeting. She felt no need to answer his question. He knew Dermot as well as she did.
Dermot MacMurrough was Laurence’s brother-in-law. For all Dermot’s faults, and there were many, she owed him a great deal. He gave her a home when no one else would, raising her alongside his own children. He wanted his entire kingdom of Leinster back, Dublin being the crown jewel. Dermot had a list of people he intended to exact revenge upon and Asculf MacTorkil occupied a top spot.
Asculf motioned for her to sit across from him as they reached the table. She noticed the guards step a bit closer to their king. The largest of the men watched her intently, hand gripping the hilt of the sword at his waist. Nessa sat down on the wooden bench directly across the table from Asculf. Laurence lowered himself into the spot next to her. There were no metal pitchers of ale set out on the table. No refreshments of any kind were offered. This was not a social occasion.
“Are you ready to surrender?” Nessa decided to get right to the point, Asculf’s surrender being the only topic Dermot wanted them to discuss. Her orders were clear, no negotiation.
“Surrender?” Asculf’s bulbous face turned red with barely restrained fury. Shoulder length black hair streaked with grey made him appear very much the Viking warrior. “Not while there is still breath in my body. I do not recognize Dermot MacMurrough as my king. The treaty he entered into with Rory O’Connor bans him from retaking Dublin.”
“We have an army camped just beyond the walls of the city. Dermot will be taking Dublin. It is up to you if any lives are lost.” She considered it only a small lie. Lives would very likely be lost no matter what he did but the damage could be minimized by Asculf’s surrender.
“O’Connor has an army out there too, ready to defend Dublin.” A look of confidence lit up Asculf’s face.
Nessa almost felt sorry for the soon to be ousted king. The information Laurence needed to impart would change everything.
Laurence appeared apologetic as he began speaking. “Rory is packing up his army and going home. Unfortunately you are on your own.”
“Leaving!” Asculf stood and leaned across the table, bracing his thick arms wide as he glared at Laurence. “And you are just telling me this now?”
Nessa tensed. There was no telling what the man might do. Without Rory and his army Asculf stood no chance at all against Dermot.
“I only learned of Rory’s decision this morning.” Laurence’s voice became soft and soothing, ever the peacemaker.
“You could have met with me in private, apprised me of such an important development before bringing her here to parley for Dermot.” Asculf directed all his fury at Laurence, anger nearly bubbling over. “But then maybe that was your intention all along, to give her the upper hand. We all know what a special relationship you two have.”
Asculf was certainly not the first to voice such horrid thoughts. People always seemed to assume the worst. She understood the anger and desperation but would not let the insult to Laurence go unanswered. “I would be very careful were I you. Father Laurence is the only thing standing between you and certain death.”
She could see the panic in Asculf’s eyes as he sat down, quickly attempting to reassess the situation. She had no intention of giving him time to regroup. “I need your decision MacTorkil. Do you surrender?”
“I might be willing to negotiate.” Asculf leaned back a bit, trying unsuccessfully to appear calm and unruffled.
“Dermot is not interested in negotiating. Either you step down as king of Dublin or he attacks the city and takes it by force.” She knew better than anyone where Dermot stood on the matter. He considered Asculf a traitor and intended to make the man pay.
“What if I agreed to recognize him as king of Leinster?”
“He will not allow you to remain king of Dublin under any circumstances. Surrender or fight? Those are your only two options.” Dermot sent her to parley bec
ause he trusted her above all others. She never wavered in her loyalty, even when he lost everything. He also considered Laurence too much of a peacemaker. Total domination being Dermot’s main goal, peace had no place in the discussion. He intended to send a message. All of Leinster belonged to him. Anyone who thought to deny that claim would be destroyed.
“I will not surrender.” Asculf did not exude confidence while uttering the words. He appeared defeated.
“Then we have nothing left to discuss.” Nessa stood up, heading toward the door without even bothering to wait for Laurence.
Walking through the streets of Dublin with Laurence it appeared to be an average day. The sun shone warm and bright with not a cloud in the sky to lessen its brilliance. People walking along the dirt road were greeting each other and smiling, sauntering in and out of wattle and daub thatch roofed cottages and shops. The door to one of the cottages opened. Nessa watched a man and woman kiss goodbye in the doorway. The woman’s long red hair was piled high atop her head. The man ran his hands through her hair loosening the pins, sending the mass of red tresses tumbling about her shoulders. The woman laughed and pushed him away, blowing him a kiss as he walked away smiling.
These houses would be so easy to burn. She saw the world through the eyes of a warrior. Too many years of war at Dermot’s side skewed her view of the world. The vast majority of Dublin could be destroyed in a matter of moments. Houses made of packed earth and sticks. Thatch roofs were nothing more than bundles of straw piled on top of the house. A flaming arrow shot at the roof would quickly catch fire forcing the inhabitants to flee. Once flushed out of their homes they were at the mercy of the invading army. Her mind could already see these people running from their burning abodes, screaming, some carrying their children. Unfortunately she did not need to use her imagination. She witnessed that exact scenario far too many times.
There were no rules in war. The fate of the innocents was determined by the morality of the enemy standing in front of them. There were two armies camped outside the city walls. These people should be terrified and preparing for the worst but conflict was commonplace in Ireland. Life could not stop every time a war between kings broke out. She stood rooted in place for a moment until the woman stepped back into the cottage and closed the door, wondering if the couple would survive Dermot’s attack.
In Ireland, at any given time, there were over a hundred kings. The difference between them being the amount of territory they laid claim to. The king that controlled more territory generally maintained dominance over the lesser kings beneath him. That in no way guaranteed the lesser kings would support him in times of war. An ever-present battle for power existed with the common man caught in the middle. Dermot was in the process of taking back control of Leinster, one of the five provinces of Ireland. Rory O’Connor considered himself king of all Ireland, a bold claim Dermot desperately wanted to disprove. Rory occupied the top spot on Dermot’s revenge list. He stripped Dermot of his power and territory, installing someone else as king of Leinster.
“Thank you for doing this. I know the family will be grateful.” Laurence’s voice pulled her mind back to the task at hand.
“A sick child takes precedence over the machinations of kings.” Although dealing with one was no more pleasant than the other.
She always traveled with Dermot’s army, her skills as a healer being one of the reasons. Very few trained physicians wanted to follow an army into war. Truth be told her skills were far superior to most of the physicians. Dermot counted on her and she had never let him down.
Laurence led her to the front door of a small, nondescript cottage. A young boy who appeared to be about seven or eight years old sat on the ground to the right of the door. His clothes were made of course brown hemp. The child’s hair needed a comb run through it in the worst way. There were smudges of dirt on his cheeks and around his eyes, as if he had been crying and wiped his face with dirty hands. He peered up at them with a forlorn expression.
Laurence and the boy looked at each other, seeming to carry on an intense conversation without saying a word. The boy eventually turned away, staring out into the distance as if they were not even there.
“Nessa will try to help her Donal.” Laurence continued to watch the boy.
Donal ignored the statement, the hopelessness surrounding him almost overwhelming in it’s intensity.
Laurence stared at Donal for another long moment before knocking on the door.
A woman quickly opened the door, a look of relief passing over her face. “You brought her. Thank you Father. You have no idea what this means to me.”
“There is no guarantee she will be able to help.”
“I understand, but if anyone can help it will be Dermot’s druidess. Please come in.” The woman stepped aside to allow them entry. “My name is Aileen and this is my husband Cathal.” Aileen pointed to a man seated on a bench at a well-worn trestle table in the center of the room.
Laurence allowed her to enter first. The instant she stepped into the cottage an overwhelming feeling of death assailed her. Laurence called these feelings her visions, although not at all accurate in some instances. They were not always visions. Sometimes it was nothing more than a strong feeling about the general course of future events without any specific details.
She glanced around the one room cottage. Other than the table very little furniture filled the space. The far end of the room contained a large bed with two much smaller beds pushed against the wall beside it. A crudely constructed stone hearth that looked as if it might fall apart at any given moment was built into the same wall.
Cathal watched her suspiciously. She could only imagine the stories he might have heard about her. Nessa followed Aileen over to one of the children’s beds.
“And this is my daughter Ceara.” Aileen peered down at the child with so much love it pained her to watch. “She fell and hit her head. Now she will not wake up.”
Nessa sat down on the bed next to Ceara. She looked to be about four or five, so small and still. Her long brown hair was neatly combed and arranged against the pillow, eyes closed peacefully as if already dead.
There were no visible wounds on the front of Ceara’s head. Nessa gently lifted the child’s head off the pillow to search for an injury. A nasty gash along with a very large bump immediately caught her attention.
“Ceara was out playing with her brother Donal. She fell and hit her head on a rock.”
Nessa gently laid Ceara’s head back on the pillow. She seriously doubted the girl fell accidentally, possible but unlikely. A wound to the back of the head suggested she might have been pushed. “Did you see it happen?”
“No. Donal ran home carrying Ceara in his arms, absolutely distraught over the whole incident.”
The question was there in Aileen’s eyes, unspoken. Can you do anything to save my daughter? Unfortunately the truth would cause this family added grief. There were things she could do but nothing would save the girl. Ceara was going to die. The trees were whispering to her of the child’s impending fate.
Even her powers could not save Ceara. The earth’s magic had its limitations. It could heal flesh and bone but not this little girl’s injury. Something more sinister than the gash on the outside of her skull caused the prolonged sleep from which the child could not wake. Ceara’s brain sustained serious trauma and even magic would not be able to save her.
Using her powers for the benefit of others involved risk, one she generally avoided outside the battlefield. People might claim to want her to save their loved ones using her magical abilities but the truth tended to be far more complicated. The very thing they wanted desperately in one moment filled them with terror the next.
“I will make a poultice to help cleanse the wound and take down the swelling.” She could not bring herself to tell these people their child would die.
“And then she will get better?” Suddenly a glimmer of hope sparkled in Aileen’s eyes.
“I have no idea if she w
ill wake up or not.” The trees would speak to her of a person’s most likely fate but there were other possible outcomes, unlikely, but nevertheless possible. She could not know the child’s fate with absolute certainty.
“But there is a chance?” Aileen’s gaze remained so hopeful it tore at her heart.
“Yes, there is a chance. Do you mind if I take Donal with me? I will send him back with the poultice and some clean strips of cloth to bind the wound.”
“No, of course not, but I thought you would be coming back to treat her.”
“I am leaving Dublin as soon as I make the poultice for Ceara.” Delaying her departure could not be considered an option, especially for a child that would die no matter what she did. She could not save everyone. Being a healer necessitated separating yourself from their pain otherwise it sucked you under like a strong ocean current during a storm.
“What if she does not wake up?” The panic crept in again, sweeping across Aileen’s face.
“Even if I were here there is no more I could do.”
“So much for the wonder healer with magical powers.” Cathal’s voice positively oozed contempt.
Nessa turned to face Aileen’s husband. He was glaring at her as if she had done something wrong. Laurence sat across from Cathal conveying his apology without saying a word. He had been through this with her many times before. They blamed her for failing to save their loved one, lashing out at the most convenient target.
“There is no magic in what I do. I use what nature provides.” She met Cathal’s gaze with unwavering confidence, refusing to accept the blame for his daughter’s plight. Nessa focused her attention back on Aileen and softened her gaze. “I will send Donal back with the supplies.”